For The Church Mason KingFor The Church Mason Kinghttps://ftc.co/resource-library/author-index/mason-king
The Frustration of Slowing DownMason KingSlowing down should frustrate our flesh, but in a different way; it brings quietness of heart amid the noise of life.
Slowing down should frustrate our flesh, but in a different way; it brings quietness of heart amid the noise of life.
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Fri, 08 Jul 2016 00:25:00 -0500https://ftc.co/resource-library/blog-entries/the-frustration-of-slowing-down
https://ftc.co/resource-library/1/2199The Frustration of Slowing DownThe Frustration of Slowing Down

Life is busy, and it’s easier to dream of escape than to face the reason we stay busy: We crave distraction to avoid feeling things at a heart level.

Sitting in a room of pastors, talking about the need for becoming a more wholehearted and centered person, I couldn’t help but blurt out, “It will just require slowing down, and that’s frustrating.”

The tension in my heart fit the words on my lips because life doesn’t slow down anymore. Wanting to think clearly, seize moments and live wholly—these ideals are lost before my email inbox, the vibration of a device and the next meeting to lead. It’s the phone in our hand for no particular reason, the handful of apps we check multiple times a day, the inability to shut it off and be in one place with oneself for one hour. When we turn the device off, it’s the disconnect that can be frustrating, creating impatience, anxiety and shortness of heart because we’re no longer used to taking a guilt-free moment of quiet for ourselves or the people we are with.

It’s frustrating to slow down.

Here is where a pastor and two sociologists are helping me. God is using their words to help slow the pace of my heart when I can’t control the pace of the world around me. While there is nothing new under the sun, these are concepts I’m asking the Lord to help me truly learn and put into practice.

A Pastor: Zack Eswine

Zack’s work, The Imperfect Pastor, took me awhile to read. Many nights I read 4-5 pages, closed the book and began to confess to God my sinfulness, my love of control and my need for Him—asking for greater awareness of each.

Eswine cites three main temptations for the pastor: to know everything, to fix everything, and to be everywhere at once. He offers a method of creating space to fight these temptations and remember provision in Christ throughout the day. Zack does this through pausing during the four portions of the day:

Morning (6 a.m. – 12 p.m.)

Noon (12 p.m. – 6 p.m.)

Evening (6 p.m. – 10 p.m.)

The Night Watches (10 p.m. – 6 a.m.)

Taking Eswine’s lead, at the close of each portion of the day, I’m trying to take just 3-5 minutes to recognize temptations I faced, sins I committed and emotions I’m feeling. I bring these all to God and trust Him to be enough in handling my failures and needs. I preach the gospel to myself, proclaiming the goodness of God and letting the Scriptures reshape my thoughts around His character and promises. In closing, I look at the coming portion of the day and ask for grace for the conversations to be had, people to care for and work to be done over the next portion of hours.

The days where this practice is present, my heart is rooted in the love of Christ. The temptation to define my worth outside of what He’s done is considerably less than on the days where I’ve had two cups of coffee and nailed my to-do list without ever slowing to consider my soul. Eswine gives an example of this practice on his blog, and has discussed it on podcast interviews you can listen to here and here.

Two Sociologists: Sherry Turkle and Arthur Boers

Turkle and Boers are academics whose research is complementary, albeit approached from different angles. Boers is a former pastor and current associate professor at Tyndale Seminary; Turkle is the Professor of Social Studies of Science at MIT. I’m struck by the threads of their work that center around the value of solitude, the vulnerability of humanity to technology and the need for intentional use of our devices.

The Value of Solitude

In Reclaiming Conversation, Turkle describes the distinction between solitude and loneliness and how modern culture has conflated the two. She quotes Paul Tillich: “Language…has created the word ‘loneliness’ to express the pain of being alone. And it has created the word ‘solitude’ to express the glory of being alone.” Turkle adds, “If we don’t know the satisfactions of solitude, we only know the panic of loneliness.”

The value of solitude is the resilience it builds and the space it offers. When we turn to a device in moments of boredom instead of our thoughts, we are robbing ourselves of the opportunity for deeper thinking, which inherently means we are thinking on a more shallow level than what is available to us outside of our devices. The panic of loneliness compels us.

The Vulnerability of Humanity

I have a love/hate relationship with Instagram and Twitter. On a good day, I’d tell you that I have the self-discipline to check them sparingly, but the truth is that my idle hands can refresh a feed before I even realize it. Without conscious thought, I’m trying to avoid boredom.

The thread of compassion and empathy toward ourselves in Turkle’s work has lingered with me for weeks. Recognizing the addicting nature of technology is the first step. Once we admit this, “we are in a position to look at our vulnerabilities with a clearer eye. If we feel ‘addicted to our phones,’ it is not just a personal weakness. We are exhibiting a predictable response to a perfectly executed design. Looking at things through this lens might put us halfway to making new choices, needed changes.”

Where my attention is drawn away from the person in front of me to something someone might have said somewhere else, I have fallen prey to an engineered attraction that I’ve welcomed into my life. Recognizing my weaknesses helps me plan for them because the proven neurochemical chain of gratification from these apps quickens the pace of my heart and keeps me from centering on who is in front of me. When my 3-year-old daughter said, “Put your phone down daddy,” I realized my vulnerability to technology designed to steal my attention was affecting far more than my attention to work.

In Living Into Focus, Boers uses Albert Borgmann’s term “focal practices” to enter into our vulnerabilities. These practices are activities that “center, balance, focus and orient one’s life…[and fight]…lives marked by pathological busyness, distraction and restlessness." Eswine’s portions of the day are such a practice for me. In identifying these focal practices, we can design life to counter our vulnerabilities and change the tempo of our hearts. Borgmann provides four metrics to test the kind of activity that restores focus and reclaims oneself when tempted to busyness. In what activities and with whom would these statements be true?

There is no place I’d rather be.

There is nothing I’d rather do.

There is no one I would rather be with.

This I will remember well.

My heart bucks at this change of tempo and yearns for it at the same time. Being kind to ourselves by recognizing and removing distractions helps us embrace a life that fits the four qualifiers above. To paraphrase Boers, we are either choosing the ways that we want to live or we are being carried along by the bad habits of a wider society. Which describes you now?

Our culture is discipling us in the use of our devices, and it’s the harder heart work of being truly present in our moments that calls for intentionality with our tools to change the tempo of our hearts.

The Need for Intentional Use of Our Devices

Recently, The Art of Manliness posted an article entitled “The Complete Guide to Breaking Your Smartphone Habit.” This points to a growing response to what Boers and Turkle have articulated so well. There is richer life to be lived outside of a screen, and we’re waking up from believing the opposite. Recognizing my own vulnerability, I’ve made a few changes that have helped my heart slow down in the midst of life. These changes are practical, but their implications are spiritual—designed to supplant my weakness. They center around the phone, email and time with family.

Phone

Short of buying a plain phone, I’ve made my iPhone as dumb as can be. No browser, no email and no feeds for entertainment (e.g. social media, news, app store). Do Not Disturb mode kicks in when I get home and shuts off when breakfast with my kids is done. I intermittently check it in the evenings only for emergencies. I installed Moment, which provides accountability for the sheer amount of time spent on the phone. When tempted to check something or send a text, I ask, as Turkle suggests, “With what I’m doing and who is in front of me, does this belong here?” By ignoring my phone, I’m telling my daughter it doesn’t matter and she does.

Email

I read a lot of suggestions on efficiency and productivity—my friends laugh now when I show them a new technology, again—but there have been a few practices lately that have provided clarity and freedom from a self-induced, frantic pace of heart and anxiety. First was deleting email from my phone. Second was installing InboxPause which causes my emails to be delivered only twice a day. This way I can do the work I need to with the people and circumstances in front of me, then attend to my email on a predictable schedule.

Time With Family

When I hear the siren song of whatever is happening online or at work, I repeat Borgmann’s four qualifiers to myself. Valuing where I am, what I’m doing and who I’m with—these moments are important. A true emergency will find me; there are avenues for that. Placing myself at the adrenaline drip of productivity trains my heart to run at a level I’m not okay with. I want my family to love Christ and His bride, not think the Church took too much of daddy.

You’re Already Enough

Consider how you might surround the portions of your day with space to let the tempo of your heart settle and center around the love of God in Christ. Zack Eswine spoke these words in an interview to encourage the “earners” and the distracted among us, those tempted toward approval earned instead of approval given in Christ. Take a breath, and read them slowly:

Q: When you think back on yourself 20 years ago, what do you wish that you would have known? What would you say to yourself?

Eswine: That you’re already enough. Before you had the title of pastor or church planter, you prayed and The Lord heard your prayers. You looked to Jesus and The Lord was faithful to you. He was your portion and you were His.

Before you were ever a pastor or did anything like that, He was already enough for you, and you were already enough for Him.

Don’t let false ministry measures rob you of that truth.

Yea, that’s what I’d say.

Webster’s dictionary defines frustration as “the act of preventing the success of something.” Slowing down frustrates the parts of us that love to run hard, want to prove our worth and struggle to believe God’s love. Speed and productivity are exposed as the want of approval Eswine describes above.

Slowing down should frustrate our flesh, but in a different way; it brings quietness of heart amid the noise of life. It’s the settling of our souls before Christ, continually reminding us that Christ is enough and that in Him we are enough, despite how we forget and stumble to remember. The struggle to feel this at a heart level is worth the fight through the noise.

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The Difficulty of ReceivingMason KingReceiving is difficult. Being given something affects us differently than being the giver. Receiving something is harder than earning it, especially for driven people.
Receiving is difficult. Being given something affects us differently than being the giver. Receiving something is harder than earning it, especially for driven people.
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Thu, 30 Apr 2015 00:55:00 -0500https://ftc.co/resource-library/blog-entries/the-difficulty-of-receiving
https://ftc.co/resource-library/1/1010The Difficulty of ReceivingThe Difficulty of Receiving

It may be true that “it is better to give than to receive,” but in my experience, it is often harder to receive than to give.

A few months ago, I asked a coworker to join me for breakfast. At the restaurant he went ahead and ordered, following with that awkward moment of “and whatever he wants; it’s together.” He bought my breakfast even though I had asked him to go with me—thinking we’d each pay for our own. He blessed me with a biscuit sandwich and a coffee, but I began fixating on how I needed to buy the next meal, wondering if what I ordered was too expensive. I felt a weird sense of shame or inadequacy because I wanted to provide for myself and didn’t like owing someone else. I had a hard time receiving the blessing from my brother. I didn’t have a hard time eating the meal! But reconciling the gift in my heart was a different matter.

Receiving is difficult. Being given something affects us differently than being the giver. Receiving something is harder than earning it, especially for driven people. It’s an insult to our pride and to our ingrained desire to be self-reliant. It picks at our identity of being self-sovereign and self-sustaining, so we try to reconcile the tension by repaying the debt or promising to give an equal (or better) gift, rather than trusting the goodness of the gift and the giver. Receiving is difficult for us because it requires trust, humility and imagination.

Receiving Requires Trust

For the Christian to receive the kingdom of God, there must be a lifelong receiving of God’s gift and a lifelong awareness of the need for that gift. It’s not a momentary acceptance and then eternal joy, but a daily refusal to trade one kingdom for another—to devalue, distrust or disbelieve the goodness of Christ. The call to receive the kingdom is the call to trust His provision over our own. Because we daily battle temptation and sin, trusting in the sufficiency of the Giver and the gift is a continuous process.

Receiving Requires Humility

Humility means having a right estimation of our worth in relation to God’s. Only as we see ourselves rightly can we depend rightly upon God as the Giver. Andrew Murray’s classic work, Humility, was an eye-opener for me. Christian humility is not merely self-deprecating or self-effacing—it actually embraces the true nature of the self (depraved, limited and in need) and lives in light of our need and acceptance of His provision. If we don’t see ourselves as needy, the gift of the gospel won’t be a treasure to us (Matt. 5:3).

Receiving Requires Imagination

To receive rightly takes the God-given, Spirit-driven, Christ-exalting gift of the imagination—not to create a reality, but to discover the reality of the gospel. Apart from the work of the Spirit in our hearts, we would never know on our own. It’s this work of the Spirit that Calvin, Edwards and many others have called the “sense of the heart”—this taste of God’s goodness and of His beauty. When the Holy Spirit breathes color and life into our imagination, He helps us trust that God is as good as He says He is. He kindles childlike belief in a good outside of our experience, that the good Father gives good gifts to His children. The sanctified imagination believes beyond what it can see and receives the gift of God.

But without trust, humility and imagination, the act of receiving remains difficult. We can’t taste God’s goodness; we are bound to self-sufficiency, striving in our pride. In this we are just like the rich man: Offered life at the expense of our identity, we would rather protect what we’ve built than trust what we’re offered—even when we know that what we’ve built is not working out for us. It’s impossible for us to receive the kingdom because we’re treasuring our self-granted gifts, rather than the Giver who calls us to Himself.

And sometimes the simplest of gifts can remind us of our unwillingness to receive. Sometimes a biscuit sandwich and a coffee can reveal the self-reliance still lingering in our hearts. Is it hard for you to receive? Are you unwilling to let another provide for you? What do you have in Christ that has not been given to you by another? Self-sufficiency at heart level is a rejection of God’s provision.

Trust that the Father gives all that is needed and all that is good. Humble yourself before Him and acknowledge your need of His provision. Trust and labor to imagine that He is good personified, and He is for you in Jesus.

(Originally published on The Village Church blog Mar 13, 2014)

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Sharing at the Expense of LearningMason KingThere is a difference between sharing and learning. Don’t confuse the two, thinking you have learned what you have shared.
There is a difference between sharing and learning. Don’t confuse the two, thinking you have learned what you have shared.
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Fri, 02 Oct 2015 00:15:00 -0500https://ftc.co/resource-library/blog-entries/sharing-at-the-expense-of-learning
https://ftc.co/resource-library/1/1503Sharing at the Expense of LearningSharing at the Expense of Learning

“There are some things which cannot be learned quickly, and time, which is all we have, must be paid heavily for their acquiring. They are the very simplest things and because it takes a man's life to know them the little new that each man gets from life is very costly and the only heritage he has to leave.” -- Ernest Hemingway

When I love something, I want you to know about it. Even more so, I want you to enjoy it like I do. Whether it be the lyrics that pricked my heart, the meal that made my night or what the Lord showed me in the Scriptures this morning, I want to share it with you.

But am I sharing too soon?

There is something right and good about rejoicing in beauty with others. However, I wonder if we’re shorting ourselves in the sharing. Does the act of sharing too quickly rob us of the joy of knowing more deeply? I’m afraid that some of our daily actions foster this in ways we may not expect.

Lately I’ve had to ask myself, “You’re sharing this, but are you sharing too quickly? Are you growing content with the snippet of truth over the depth of learning the truth afforded to you?”

Here are two scenarios from my life:

I scan Twitter, and I either retweet or favorite posts that I like and agree with. I interact briefly with a post that holds truth, and then I pocket my phone and go on.

I sit down with the Scriptures to engage the text. The Holy Spirit meets me in the text and gives me eyes to see something about God’s character and my hope in Christ. I default too quickly to pastor mode, beginning to think through ways I can share this with someone and what points I might get across. My eyes move from my first role as God’s child to my second role as pastor. I’m now studying for a lesson to teach instead of learning what I’m being taught.

In the shift to sharing, I fear I’m grazing. I fear that I’m deceiving myself into being full. The sheer number of sources I graze from on a daily basis is shocking when made into a list: Twitter, Facebook, email, Instagram, Feedly, texts, photos, voicemail, radio and television. It’s no wonder that grazing keeps me distracted from my true meal, much like the three baskets of chips before my fajitas. But I am pointing to, retweeting, liking and commenting on these things all day.

And it seems okay because everyone else is too.

These thumbed double-taps are convincing me that I have apprehended a truth because I have affirmed it and shared it with my circle of friends. I’m under the illusion that I have actually learned what I have put before others. My friends now associate it with me, so I can, as well. Lately, I am far less often inclined to sit and mine for beauty, rather than run and share a snippet of it with others.

In this, I trade the beholding for the quick glance, but the jewel of Christian hope demands fixation. The beauty of Christ is inexhaustible and brings ever-increasing joy for the diligent seeker.

We are dedicated to our diet of information. The sources we look to are confined to what we view as worthy. We have limited our options to pursue depth, discriminating with our intake, and it shows in our lives. When we are uncritical adopters, we fail to sift for the good and hold onto it. We graze with little concern because the discovery of the new entertains us.

The call of the Christian is to behold the beauty of Christ. We are to keep our eyes fixed upon Him as we call others to see Him. Our attention is to be focused on Him—our eyes upon the oldest thing that never gets old—letting the new pass by without fear of missing out.

There is a difference between sharing and learning. Don’t confuse the two, thinking you have learned what you have shared. Acquiring true knowledge comes at great effort. It demands more than our weakening appetites, and we must strengthen ourselves to acquire it or be contented with ever-spoiling entertainment.

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Say The Right ThingMason KingPeople leave a church for many reasons. Some are good; some are less than good. Some members disappear without a trace, and others leave a tumultuous wake in their exit. As a pastor, these situations often leave me wishing I knew just what to say.
People leave a church for many reasons. Some are good; some are less than good. Some members disappear without a trace, and others leave a tumultuous wake in their exit. As a pastor, these situations often leave me wishing I knew just what to say.
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Tue, 22 Dec 2015 00:15:00 -0600https://ftc.co/resource-library/blog-entries/say-the-right-thing
https://ftc.co/resource-library/1/1718Say The Right ThingSay The Right Thing

Last month a couple sat in my office and said, “We’ve been debating about whether or not to come talk with you. This might seem random, but it’s something we’ve been praying about. We want to put it out there and see if there’s anything to it, or if we’re reading things wrongly.”

The last few years have helped me curb my innate apprehension to statements like this. Among our elders, staff and congregation, we are sowing to reap a culture of godly criticism and godly encouragement, which means that we make room for conversations that might seem awkward or difficult to start for many people.

The couple in front of me that morning gave me the gift of trust as their pastor—whatever their issue, they trusted I would hear and respond to them in love. Each year when our church enters into a season of Covenant Membership Renewal, there may be conversations that go unsaid due to a sense of awkwardness or difficulty. But we need to have them and extend trust to each other in the process.

When No One Knows What to Say

People leave a church for many reasons. Some are good; some are less than good. Some members disappear without a trace, and others leave a tumultuous wake in their exit. As a pastor, these situations often leave me wishing I knew just what to say—and I suspect the member leaving wishes they knew what to say, too.

This lack of resolution results in the kinds of stories we hear from those coming in and going out of churches:

“We were members for 30+ years, but once we left, we never got a single phone call from the staff. It’s like they didn’t even notice or care that we left.”

“I tried to talk with the pastor, but we could never connect. There are still things left unsaid, and now I feel awkward about how we left.”

“I’ll just leave my comments on the feedback form; they can read it and call me if they have questions. I’ve said my piece.”

So how should members in good standing who want to leave the church address their exit with their pastor? And how should the pastor hear and respond when members leave? How do we both seize the moment to say the right thing?

A Necessary Conversation

No matter how much it hurts or how awkward it seems, it’s necessary for pastors and members to have these conversations. With all the grace, patience and other-focused love you both can muster, place the reason for leaving on the table and talk through it. Don’t let things fester.

In this conversation you serve each other by the giving and receiving of clarity, context and—one would hope—apology and forgiveness where needed. It’s Christians having a conversation, talking about life in their local body and treating each other like Christians.

Member: Serve your church with godly encouragement and godly criticism. Give clarity and seek context where needed. Your membership is a job, and being a member means you belong to something bigger than yourself. You are part of a body that protects the who and what of the gospel. Leaving your church is not the same as failing to re-up your club membership.

Pastor: Set your people up for their next church by pastoring them on their way out of yours. Give clarity and seek context where needed. Before they ever belonged to your church, they belonged to God. Entrust them to Him and pray. Don’t shy away from godly critique and have thick skin if it’s delivered imperfectly.

Member: Value your membership in Christ’s Church enough to leave a local body with the same measure of hospitality you expect to be welcomed in with at the next one. When it’s in your power, say the right thing. Have the difficult or awkward conversation. Be intentional to affirm and encourage your Christian brothers when you leave their care.

Pastor: Genuinely bless and work for the best for your members as they go or as they stay. Encourage your people in the “job” of church membership. Help them to see the importance of leaving well and entering into another body as soon as they’re able.

For both members and pastors, these conversations are difficult. But they’re also easy in light of the fact that Christ is our King, and He has promised us that His Church will not fail. Whether or not the local church does well or doesn’t do well, His kingdom will advance. Keeping this in perspective frees us up to have the necessary conversations. And when that time comes, tomorrow or next week or next month, we can seize the moment to say the right thing.

Originally published at The Village Church Blog, October 20, 2015. Reprinted with permission of The Village Church, Denton, TX.

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Making Contentment My EstateMason KingThe wrestle of wealth, of making enough and having enough, is a dark space in my soul—the struggle for contentment against a sliding scale in a world that rejects less as more and sees more as a means to happiness. It’s where I have to preach to myself the truth I know when the lie is in front of me.
The wrestle of wealth, of making enough and having enough, is a dark space in my soul—the struggle for contentment against a sliding scale in a world that rejects less as more and sees more as a means to happiness. It’s where I have to preach to myself the truth I know when the lie is in front of me.
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Wed, 20 May 2015 01:00:00 -0500https://ftc.co/resource-library/blog-entries/making-contentment-my-estate
https://ftc.co/resource-library/1/1124Making Contentment My EstateMaking Contentment My Estate

Some of my favorite memories as a child were Saturday mornings with my dad. We’d hit flea markets, Half Price Books and garage sales scouting for treasures and talking. My wife would say that these memories are what make me stop at every HPB, just to have a look and browse around.

Twenty years later, my dad and I still hit a sale from time to time. But now there’s something new in my stomach that didn’t register as a child, a feeling that uncurls in me at these estate sales, looking through someone’s garage with a bunch of strangers and picking out trinkets to add to my collection from theirs.

Maybe it’s that I’m a dad now, and a new realm of fear and desire came with the birth of my first child. I want to provide the best I can for her—to bless her and show her my love through what I can give her. There’s a fear of not being able to provide the things she needs, let alone the extra that would be icing on the cake. Maybe it’s that as a child I worked angles to get things because I knew my parents loved me, so there is a fear of being taken for granted.

Maybe it’s the estate sale last spring where I looked down at a workbench, and amid the wrenches and reloading equipment lay a pair of glasses, coated in dust, sitting on a roll of tape. Right where the wearer had left them.

And here I was, in his garage, adding from his collection to mine.

The wrestle of wealth, of making enough and having enough, is a dark space in my soul—the struggle for contentment against a sliding scale in a world that rejects less as more and sees more as a means to happiness. It’s where I have to preach to myself the truth I know when the lie is in front of me.

I can’t remember much of the stuff that my dad bought me at garage sales, flea markets or bookstores growing up. I doubt much of it has made its way into my adulthood. But I can tell you what has: the memories of Saturdays. Time with my dad, listening to stories, asking questions.

The writer of Hebrews tells us, “…be content with what you have, for he has said, ‘I will never leave you nor forsake you.’” But right before that he says, “keep your life free from the love of money.” I wouldn’t come right out and tell you I love money, but the desires I have for my family would tell you that I think money is the answer. And every garage sale reminds me that I am not alone.

Who you have will outlast what you can buy. Be content with what you have, for He has said, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” The better thing for my daughter than to get every trinket she wants? To have a daddy who gives his attention and helps train her to recognize good desires leading to false loves. To be someone who shows her the One who is better. I just wish my own heart would be fully resolved, as I try to lead hers.

But in my weakness there is contentment because He has not left me. That revelation is the call for my heart to trust Jesus with my daughter and all my desires—and to believe He is better.

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Keep the Calendar, Keep Your BrotherMason KingFor all the celebrations to be remembered, the occasions of suffering are the dates that stick with me. It was then, when the day came that she would call - or we’d get in the car with a warm meal in the back seat. A note would get dropped in the mail, a meal on the doorstep to say: you are loved, you are not forgotten, and neither are they.
For all the celebrations to be remembered, the occasions of suffering are the dates that stick with me. It was then, when the day came that she would call - or we’d get in the car with a warm meal in the back seat. A note would get dropped in the mail, a meal on the doorstep to say: you are loved, you are not forgotten, and neither are they.
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Wed, 11 Nov 2015 00:35:00 -0600https://ftc.co/resource-library/blog-entries/keep-the-calendar-keep-your-brother
https://ftc.co/resource-library/1/1622Keep the Calendar, Keep Your BrotherKeep the Calendar, Keep Your Brother

On the wall in our kitchen, just above the phone, there was a calendar. The paper kind sold now in the seasonal stores, the kind you traded for your phone. Usually it was illustrated by Mary Engelbreit, my mother's favorite, and a perennial source of color in our home. Countless times I would walk by the hub of our kitchen and my mother would be standing there, tethered to the wall, looking at the squared off pages and taking notes while listening to the other end of the line.

And, each year, she would unwrap the new calendar and begin filling in from the old. My mom would go through fifty two weeks and two decades of notes, transcribing names, dates and events that she wanted to remember:

the birth of friend’s children

the death of friend’s loved ones, and of our friends.

the birth of family, and the death of family

wedding anniversaries and church activities

-- all amidst the lives of two busy kids and the court calendar of my judge father.

For all the celebrations to be remembered, the occasions of suffering are the dates that stick with me. It was then, when the day came that she would call - or we’d get in the car with a warm meal in the back seat. A note would get dropped in the mail, a meal on the doorstep to say: you are loved, you are not forgotten, and neither are they.

We were no strangers to the house of mourning. The weight of simple presence was evident the day of and in the weeks, months and years after. It was the calendar that quietly reminded us that on that day, mourning may visit the house again, and a brother or sister could use a phone call to say: you are loved, you are not forgotten, and neither are they.

This last weekend marked a year since we buried a dear friend. He stood shoulder to shoulder with my dad during a hard battle with cancer, and years later his family said goodbye when cancer took him. On Monday I hugged his widow, his daughter and struggled to know what to say - but the calendar had been on my mind for weeks and I knew that to avoid it for my own comfort may well rob them of comfort due in mourning. The reality of his absence does not change, and any little thing can bring the shadow of mourning. In the darkness of the shadow, we are our brothers keeper with the hope of the gospel.

Our young church has seen it’s share of suffering, and if we are not careful, it is the calendar of our work that will keep us from the dates of our member’s lives. The very nature of keeping the calendar - of minding events in the lives of others - is to care for them. To consider their lives, joys, hurts and the opportunities for loneliness, despair, and withdrawal in their suffering. To think of the other and act on their behalf, for their good, is simple enough in its premise that we miss it in the midst of our hurried hours. Being present is rarely productive, but it is.

Because caring for people takes time.

Because caring for those made in God’s image is not efficient. It is more often inconvenient.

And the means of caring are so rudimentary that we think that someone else will do it. We’ve got things in our calendar to get to.

But humans haven’t progressed beyond the value of presence and attention. Friendship doesn’t thrive in good intentions alone. And loneliness can steal hope in bite sized memories. Pastoring isn’t done best through your inbox and over coffee. It’s in the milestone moments of joy and suffering that get written down on the calendar.

My professor in seminary told us, when a child is born in your congregation - go to the hospital. Stay 5 minutes. Write down the date in your book and on their first birthday - send them a card. When you enter the house of mourning with your people, and you preach the funeral of their loved ones - write the date down. The next year, send them a card and tell them: you are loved, you are not forgotten, and neither are they.

Prof said this because he knew. Remember the events of your people’s lives, be present and let them know that they are not alone.

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If We Survive the NightMason KingToday, April 22, is this year's official start to the traditional Jewish feast of Passover. Here is a sweet devotional reflection on the Passover from The Village Church's Mason King.
Today, April 22, is this year's official start to the traditional Jewish feast of Passover. Here is a sweet devotional reflection on the Passover from The Village Church's Mason King.
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Fri, 22 Apr 2016 00:15:00 -0500https://ftc.co/resource-library/blog-entries/if-we-survive-the-night
https://ftc.co/resource-library/1/2032If We Survive the NightIf We Survive the Night

I’ve been fiddling with this brush for hours.

I’ve washed it four times and still can’t wipe the blood from my mind.

For weeks, things have been happening. The water turned. The locusts came. Then the darkness. For three days the sun disappeared. Life has been turned upside down.

And now this. Sitting here in the dark of night. She’s been so strong. My wife forced her tears back tonight as we ate. She kissed him on the head once and held him close—I thought she would break. He knows something’s going on. He has always been a sharp boy.

In this manner you shall eat it: with your belt fastened, your sandals on your feet, and your staff in your hand. And you shall eat it in haste. It is the Lord's Passover.

Moses sounded so sure when he told us what to do. Slay the lamb and eat its flesh. Spread its blood upon the doorway of the house.

Go and select lambs for yourselves according to your clans, and kill the Passover lamb. Take a bunch of hyssop and dip it in the blood that is in the basin, and touch the lintel and the two doorposts with the blood that is in the basin. None of you shall go out of the door of his house until the morning.

He is growing so quickly. Eleven springs gone, and now there’s gray in my beard as his has yet to come in. A few more years now. He’s learned much watching me and working beside me at home. I’m so proud of him and pleased when he joins me during the day. “How tall he is!” my friends say. “You look like your mother—how lucky you are,” they tell him. So much promise.

Three little ones in our home now. If I go, he’ll have to take care of them. He’s strong with a good way about him. I’m confident he can do it.

If we just survive the night.

The blood shall be a sign for you, on the houses where you are. And when I see the blood, I will pass over you, and no plague will befall you to destroy you, when I strike the land of Egypt.

My wife hasn’t let go of my hand for the last few hours. She’s finally fallen asleep. We’ve been sitting on the floor since sundown, and I can’t quit staring at the front door. I can’t rest. I can’t sleep. Not tonight.

My boy.

The blood of the lamb.

The darkness outside.

It’s almost too much for me to hold inside.

My heart is full of fear, hope and love for my family—for my son.

Moses said this is the Word of the Lord and that He will deliver us—that tonight our homes will be passed over—that my boy will make it through the darkness.

For I will pass through the land of Egypt that night, and I will strike all the firstborn in the land of Egypt, both man and beast; and on all the gods of Egypt I will execute judgments: I am the Lord.

He said the Lord will bring freedom to us, His people. He said that the Lord is making a covenant to us. Soon, we will no longer be slaves.

The lamb had been with us in the home for a few weeks. With hyssop, I spread its blood on the doorpost. We ate its flesh as we stood, dressed to run once we were done.

The hyssop is stained now; it won’t be free of the blood.

The house is quiet; all I can hear is my son’s breathing while he sleeps.

At midnight the Lord struck down all the firstborn in the land of Egypt, from the firstborn of Pharaoh who sat on his throne to the firstborn of the captive who was in the dungeon, and all the firstborn of the livestock. And Pharaoh rose up in the night, he and all his servants and all the Egyptians. And there was a great cry in Egypt, for there was not a house where someone was not dead.

My wife awakes with a fright. My son stirs.

The Lord has passed over us; the blood of the lamb has covered us.

The Lord is delivering His people.

“Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!” John 1:29

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Hometown Roads Never Leave YouMason KingThere’s something to place. Something to knowing and being known. There is beauty in surrendering to it, recounting the faithfulness of God down every road.
There’s something to place. Something to knowing and being known. There is beauty in surrendering to it, recounting the faithfulness of God down every road.
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Tue, 22 Sep 2015 00:30:00 -0500https://ftc.co/resource-library/blog-entries/hometown-roads-never-leave-you
https://ftc.co/resource-library/1/1476Hometown Roads Never Leave YouHometown Roads Never Leave You

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sat at this light, waiting for it to turn green. In an instant, I see the steering wheels of four different cars that I’ve sat behind, looking at life through each windshield and seeing vastly different things. In each, I’ve turned the music loud, laughed with my friends, sat in silence and listened to my daughter sing along to the music—which is not so loud now.

Pastoring in my hometown is a joy and a constant trial. For years, I talked about wanting to return, pastor and raise a family. Now I’m here, pastoring among a people I love in a place I love—a place that tests what I believe at every stoplight.

I coast to the corner, and it’s not the different wheels I’ve sat behind but the mistakes I’ve made that pull up beside me—the wounds I’ve caused and the sin I’ve chased. The cold winters of loneliness and the summers of burning anxiety turn up their dials, all before the light releases me. In the span of a traffic cycle, my heart’s contentment can be so quickly unsettled. My inner monologue, like a dashboard radio broadcast on repeat, sinks my mind into regret over the past, doubt over the future and distraction from the present.

I’ve driven these roads a thousand times. At these intersections of past and present, my memories and comparisons must meet the truth of Jesus in my life. A grocery run across town can turn into a fight to speak against myself—to speak instead of listen. The words of Martin Lloyd-Jones resonate with me: “Why are you downcast, o my soul? Listen, and I will speak to you. Put your hope in God.”

You are the one who speaks the most to you. Talk back to yourself. Follow the model of the psalmist and speak to your soul. Memories have to be stewarded when they arise; they don’t get to dictate the soul’s state. We have to practice talking to ourselves—too often we only listen.

The joy and sometimes the pain of pastoring in such a familiar place is the knowing and being known. This town is filled with people I love and the memories I share with them. I am unable to recreate my identity because I am known, and great comfort comes from that.

Last year, I looked out at the congregation while preparing to preach. On the back row, four silver heads stood out amid our younger demographic. I knew them well. I used to sit down the pew from these folks as a child. They had come across town on this day to hear “Steve’s boy.”

Standing in the pulpit, I had no chance to act as someone I’m not, as well as no need to. The gift I had been given was the reminder to trust Christ with all that I am, not the pastor I wish to be or the me I think people want to see, but the me who grew up here. The me who came to know Jesus here. The me who must deal with who I am and who I’ve been at every intersection. The me that is trying to unfold the implications of the gospel at every turn—for me, my family and my congregation.

A year later, I held the hand of one of those silver-haired men after he slipped into a coma, shortly before he died. He knew my grandfather, whom I never knew. They used to call football games together in my dad’s hometown. He knew four generations of men in my family, and the Lord gave us friendship.

There’s something to place. Something to knowing and being known. There is beauty in surrendering to it, recounting the faithfulness of God down every road. Too often, I just listen to myself and coast down the street, oblivious to the signs of grace around me. I miss the providence of God because I am looking at myself, and then my heart makes a critical turn, away from gratitude.

Pastoring in this place with these people is a joy as we live together, knowing and being known, free from recreating identities and free to embrace the one God has given us—an identity that is lived out in the Christian community. We work to recall the faithfulness of God when the dials of life are turned too loud to hear, when we are tempted to listen to ourselves rather than to talk to ourselves and to one another. I’m thankful for these intersections and for every mile in between. Each is an opportunity to preach to myself, to cultivate gratitude and to live among a people I love.

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Fear and Trembling at AdventMason KingOur hearts tremble with love for that we have yet to see—as we long for the day when we see Him face to face.
Our hearts tremble with love for that we have yet to see—as we long for the day when we see Him face to face.
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Tue, 15 Dec 2015 00:45:00 -0600https://ftc.co/resource-library/blog-entries/fear-and-trembling-at-advent
https://ftc.co/resource-library/1/1739Fear and Trembling at AdventFear and Trembling at Advent

Scripture tells us that, as shepherds were watching their flock at night, an angel of the Lord came and told them of Christ’s birth. The stillness of the desert air and the calm of the darkness was interrupted by an angel of the Lord, fierce and mighty—God’s glory shining brightly. Surprised, terrified, in awe—the shepherds stared at the angel who said to them, “Fear not.”

You and I typically jump ahead to the next part of the story—that they made their way to see the baby boy. But stay a minute. Study this scene.

Think about that night—the sky opened up and the glory of the Lord shone around these shepherds. Their hearts trembled at the fierce angel who then said to them, “Fear not. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord!”

As if the presence of the one warrior angel was not enough to make the point for these shepherds, a multitude of hosts appeared and the night burned brightly with their praise: “Glory to God in the Highest—and on earth peace among those with whom He is pleased!”

We see Mary and Joseph not too far away in the stable. Young Mary, trembling and preparing to give birth to the Hope of the Ages, without midwife or doctor, let alone drugs to numb the imminent pain. She is held by her betrothed, Joseph, a man who months earlier was trying to arrange a quiet divorce. No doubt, he trembled then. But an angel of the Lord came to Joseph in the darkness and said, “Fear not.”

And so the Lord speaks to you and to me, saying, “Be not afraid, it is I.” Light has exposed the darkness of our own hearts and has overcome it by the cross. Our hearts indeed tremble now, not with fear at His appearing, but with gratitude because He has come to save us. In Him we have a Rescuer. Without Him we are, at most, thin veneers of who we wish to be. He has come to restore our humanity.

As we approach the day on which we remember His birth, we enter into a starlit night where the still air fell like velvet on the shoulders of shepherds. Stars burned with the brightness of childlike wonder. This night, the Hope of all the ages drew His first breath. A young mother gazed at her child’s face. In her heart and in her hands she held the weight of the boy who had come to set His people free.

Our hearts tremble with love for that we have yet to see—as we long for the day when we see Him face to face.

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Edwards For Every DayMason KingMaturity for Jonathan Edwards, and for us, is greater dependence upon the person and work of Christ. Grace takes a believer and gives them eyes to see themselves in light of who Christ is. And incremental holiness takes time.
Maturity for Jonathan Edwards, and for us, is greater dependence upon the person and work of Christ. Grace takes a believer and gives them eyes to see themselves in light of who Christ is. And incremental holiness takes time.
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Thu, 28 May 2015 00:40:00 -0500https://ftc.co/resource-library/blog-entries/edwards-for-every-day
https://ftc.co/resource-library/1/1152Edwards For Every DayEdwards For Every Day

Early in my twenties, I read Jonathan Edwards's “Resolutions,” a display of intent toward holiness written by a man desiring to please God with his life. I read the list over and again, taking in his precisely crafted hopes. Then I made my own list, copying some of Edwards’:

“Resolved, to live with all my might while I do live.”
“To take advantage of every hour given to me and to count it as grace.”
“When I sin, to recall the nature of heart and thought that led me from temptation to action and away from God.”

And the list grew over the years. With each new volume of lined manila pages, I traced my resolutions once again.

In Formed for the Glory of God: Learning from the Spiritual Practices of Jonathan Edwards, Kyle Strobel juxtaposes the elder and younger Edwards, helping me see the work of grace in my own heart. Strobel quotes Edwards:

“Though it seems to me, that in some respects I was a far better Christian, for two or three years after my first conversion, than I am now; and lived in a more constant delight and pleasure: yet of late years, I have had a more full and constant sense of the absolute sovereignty of God, and a delight in that sovereignty; and have had more of a sense of the glory of Christ, as a mediator, as revealed in the Gospel.”

My professor in seminary asked us to consider this scenario:

“Say I have a man whose besetting sin is sleeping around. On average, he is sleeping with 30-40 women a year. The Lord saves that man, and we walk together as brothers. During the next year of his life, he sleeps with three women. Do you condemn this man? Do you doubt his salvation or his understanding of Christ’s work? Think of the standard to which you hold him. If it is holiness, no one has met that, save Christ. If it is the progressive and saving work of the Spirit—then look at how much his life has changed from where he started.”

Talk about throwing a wrench into this church-kid's world!

A worldview like that—a worldview of incremental holiness—is one that recognizes dependence, inability and false righteousness. The saved man’s life is changed, and he is still in need of grace. To think of where I have come from and where I am now—gratitude grows with every dip, every bend, and every fresh recognition of grace.

Edwards goes on:

“I have a vastly greater sense, of my universal, exceeding dependence on God’s grace and strength, and mere good pleasure, of late, than I used to formerly have; and have experienced more of an abhorrence of my own righteousness. The thought of any comfort or joy, arising in me, on any consideration, or reflection on my own amiableness, or any of my performances or experiences, or any goodness of heart or life, is nauseous and detestable to me. And yet I am greatly afflicted with a proud and self-righteous spirit; much more sensibly than I used to be formerly.”

The elder Edwards is aware of his frame and open with his need in a way the younger was not. His fully formed voice is worth hearing, one tempered by grace—sweeter, humbler, more dependent. His heart moves from a list of moral action to sitting at Christ’s feet, and he calls others to sit beside him.

My professor continued:

"What happens when I have jumped through all the sanctification hoops of those I trust, and it doesn't work? What do I do? The mark of a Christian is his affections and desires, not his momentary lapses. Not that he does well, but that he knows the pit out of which he was dug, and knows where to go for cleansing when he falls back into it."

Maturity for Edwards, and for us, is greater dependence upon the person and work of Christ. Grace takes a believer and gives them eyes to see themselves in light of who Christ is “much more sensibly than...formerly.” Incremental holiness takes time. Sober knowledge of self meets deep trust in the person of God, and we trust that in our moments of self trust, our falls and failures, He is good.